


Moonshot Wastrel's Corporate Romance

by Byacolate



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Career Change, F/M, Nisha runs a smuggling ring and Jack is beside himself, Programmer Jack, Smuggler Crimelord Nisha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to the law of percentages, he’s almost basically mostly her type.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonshot Wastrel's Corporate Romance

**Author's Note:**

> For the drabble prompt that must include the sentence “Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?” given to me by [proxiies](http://proxiies.tumblr.com/). Low-level Hyperion Programmer Jack with his nerd boy crush and stumbling is secretly probably my favorite Jack.

“Do you ever think we should just stop doing...  this?”

 

Ms Kadam leans across the display case, her mouth a pretty purple curve of amusement. “What’s that, Jack?”

 

He gestures between the two of them, arch brow in a furrow. “You know.  This . This whole pretending I’m interested in your merchandise - which, very intimidating, by the way - when I’ve had ulterior motives the whole time that you're too cool to notice… thing we do.”

 

“Maybe I think you’re a creep, and I’m waiting for you to take the hint,” she says, tapping her nails on the glass case. She shifts her hips, and Jack’s struck, not for the first time, by the likelihood that the pistols settled there might be really truly actually loaded. He can feel his bravado deflating by the second. 

 

“Fair enough.” He clears his throat, and tries not to show fear. She reminds him of a shark, sometimes, and his unsteady footing is like blood in the water. “Uhh. And is that...? What’s going on here?”

 

She’s probably the only person in the world who can pull off a cowgirl hat indoors and look badass about it, and he’s kind of devastated by the molten gold of her eyes, the confidence in her every move. Weeks ago, he’d stepped into her munitions smuggling enterprise on behalf of his employer - because that’s his role in the company now, apparently; gopher runs to Pandora - to cut a deal. Weeks ago, he’d hyped himself up with a speech long-prepared about Hyperion’s interest in further sabotage of their competitors; there were contracts to draw, deals to cut, quite possibly entrepreneurial bandits to intimidate with his kickass wrist gun prototype. Weeks ago, Jack’s heart had dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his ass when he’d been led to The Sheriff herself. 

 

Weeks ago, Jack’s incorrigible dick had convinced him that sticking around on this rusty grundle of a planet was without a doubt the best course of action. For Hyperion. For Helios. For Tassiter and his corporate goons. And only a little for the low, smoky tone of her voice and the way she says his name.

 

She’s just so goddamn  cool .

 

The way she draws herself up to her full height to look him square in the eye makes Jack feel… well. It makes him  feel . “‘Cause,” he starts slowly, “if it is -”

 

“Nah,” she interrupts, tilting her head back just a hair to appraise him. The grin on her mouth is just a little thing, amused. “I think you’re cute.”

 

Jack blinks twice. He’s a little bit of a tech wizard, hedging on genius, but it takes a hot minute for his brain to boot up a response. “Oh, yeah? Cute’s good. I can work with cute.” 

 

 

The way she tucks her thumbs into the gun belt slung low on her hips is... distracting.

 

“A pencil-pushing nerd with a strong chin and a propensity toward violence,” she goes on, and the dark little laugh to follow makes Jack’s toes curl in his snakeskin boots. “That’s half my type.”

 

In terms of percentages, half is a 1% nudge from the majority. He’s almost basically mostly her type. 

 

“So then, uh. Do you maybe want to grab a drink later?” he tries his luck, because according to her, he has a 50% shot at success, and he’s never backed away from odds that high. He’s a gambler, is Jack.

 

Her smile curls like gunsmoke, as befits her poetically.

  
“You finally pick a real goddamn gun, and we can skip the drinks altogether, handsome.”

 

She makes out like a bandit in Hyperion corporate funds. 

 

Jack makes out in other ways.

**Author's Note:**

> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [my Tumblr](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).


End file.
